


the mirror crack'd from side to side

by PaxDuane



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baby Clones (Star Wars), Concord Dawn culture, Family, Force-Sensitive Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Jango Fett, Found Family, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Mirror Universe, Multi, Politics, Power Dynamics, taking repcomm characters and ignoring characterization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: Two versions of one galaxy reconverge after nearly a thousand years from when their timelines diverged.The changes are shocking for both sides. Still -- Mandalorians have always been good at rolling with the punches.And with two Mand'alore in one galaxy, the changes have only started.A collection of short stories, vignettes, and drabbles in this AU.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Clone Troopers, Jango Fett & Cort Davin, Jango Fett & Kal Skirata & Walon Vau, Jango Fett & Original Character(s), Jango Fett/Cort Davin, Jango Fett/Original Character(s)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 58





	1. Web and Loom (Part 1/2)

“Mand’alor, the Sith ships by Naboo are still scrambled.”

“As soon as we’re settled ourselves,” the black and green beskar’gam-clad figure says with clipped efficiency, “Start firing. We’re faster at what we do and this is the best chance to get them in a corner. We’re working on figuring out what’s going on.”

“Copy.”

The holo winks out, leaving the figure to slump against the wall. They rap their gauntlet against the metal, then straighten back up to cross to the transparisteel window, looking out at a changed galaxy. A new comm call pings on their gauntlet and they accept it.

A Nautolan in Je’dai robes stands next to a human woman in the understated but rich political robes of the Chancellor of the Republic in the holo.

“We think it’s a Sith,” the Je’dai says in lieu of greeting. Considering they’ve been in and out of calls for the last three hours. “One of theirs or one of ours… Or maybe one of each and it just synced up somehow and that caused this.”

“What really matters is we’re stuck like this,” the Chancellor adds. “Of that we’re certain. We’ll reach out to this other Coruscant. Will you be reaching out to the corresponding planets of the Mandalorian Empire?”

“Some,” they reply. “If you can, get a list of this Republic’s membership. I have a feeling that things aren’t the same here. According to my men, the other Naboo looks peaceful.”

The Chancellor’s eyes go wide. “ _Naboo_?”

“They don’t seem to be in the middle of any conflicts nearly as big as we are,” the Je’dai muses.

“I’ll reach out to Mandalore and a few oth--.” The Mand’alor pauses as another call blinks at them. “I’m afraid I need to cut this short. Kamino is calling.”

“May the Force be with you, Mand’alor,” the Jed’ai says.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, Chancellor, Master Je’dai.” The Mand’alor switches the calls out. “So you’re still alive. What’s the sitrep?”

“There are Mandalorians on the other Kamino,” comes the flat answer. “They are not there because of a relationship between Mandalore and Kamino; they are there because of a cloning operation.”

“A _cloning_ operation?”

“The Republic has ordered soldiers. For now, they are children. The Mandalorians here have nowhere to turn to keep the children from the Republic. Kalevala rules their system.”

The Mand’alor stares out the window at the stars. “I’m coming to Kamino.”

“So,” the silver and blue beskar’gam-clad figure asks, “What is your Manda’tome like?”

The black-clad Kaminoan cocks her head, thinking. “The people or our Mand’alor?”

The Mando’ad blinks, for a moment, as if he had not considered they would have an active Mand’alor. Considering what he and the others said of Kalevala, she does not find this surprising. “The people, but also the Mand’alor.”

“The people are like any people, they laugh and they cry. Many hold the home front on different planets. More make up our army. Mand’alor Te Gotabor oversees one of the largest armies in centuries at over thirty two million active soldiers and another seven million support positions on the fronts.”

“Te Gotabor?” one of the Mando’ad in gold beskar’gam asks, “How do you translate that for those who don’t speak Mando’a. It has a lot of meaning.”

“The Builder,” a clear, cracking voice says. All gazes track to the door where, flanked by two of the Kaminoans of this Kamino, a short figure in black and green beskar’gam stands. Their long kama, pleated and vertically stripped with true and erin green both, only drips slightly like a raincoat that has not been hung up just yet instead of like thick fabric that has been through the storms outside. On their pauldron, a silver etched mythosaur skull can be seen that matches the similar bare silver of their helmet, which is shaped strangely to mimic the historical visored masks and the Journeymen Protectors of outer Manda’tome planets like Concord Dawn. It also lets several dark ‘locs drip in front of their shoulders.

“Mand’alor,” the black-clad Kaminoan greets.

“Tau Sei,” the Mand’alor replies warmly. “Suy cuy gar, ner burc’ya.”

The two clasp hands in a Kaminoan gesture, their different builds nearly causing a comic moment if not for how practiced they are in moving together.

Then, the Mand’alor moves to the Mando’ad in silver and blue and extends their arm. “Mand’alor Te Gotabor.”

The Mando’ad moves to clasp their forearm, only to be interrupted by the feral grins of his compatriots.

“Really?” he asks them, looking exhausted by them as they continue to grin. “Fine.” He turns back to the Mand’alor and grasps their forearm. “Mand’alor Te Haat’la, ruyot’ad Te Vercopaca.”

“I believe having terrible friends comes with the position,” Te Gotabor says, smile clear in their voice as they grasp his forearm back. Then, they detach and disengage their helmet, pulling it off to reveal the complicated nature of their freeform locs around a face as dark as Te Haat’la’s and showing off a grin of sharp, silver sculpted teeth coverings.

Te Haat’la stares at their teeth a moment then bellows, “Davin!”

A Journeyman Protector ducks over and stares for a moment too. “Ede’dema? You still have people that practice it?”

“You don’t?” Te Gotabar asks, aghast. “Do you want some?”

“Yes,” Davin-the-JP and Te Haat’la say in sync.

“That’s chill,” Te Gotabar says cheerfully. “Clan Davin, then, and…” They pause. “I suppose I should introduce myself properly to batat’ade. I’m Jara Mereel.”

Te Haat’la’s eyes go wide. “Mereel?”

“Mmhm.”

“Ah. Um. Jango Fett, House Mereel,” Te Haat’la introduces. “Mand’alor Te Vercopaca, my foster father, was called Jaster Mereel.”

Te Gotabar, Jara, brightens.

“You were straight up named after Hod Ha’ran’s death-bringer aspect,” Davin mutters, staring at them. “Cort Davin.”

“Jate’urcir, batat’ade. Now, I understand you don’t really have a lot of options for the eyayade?”

Te Haat’la, Jango, looks to the ground. “No,” he says finally. “Not a lot of options.”

Jara hums. “How does amnesty sound?”

The entire group of gathered Mando’ade exchange looks.

“I think,” Jango says carefully, “It sounds good.”

Jango bounces Boba on his hip, grip careful as Jara lets the toddler play with their locs.

One of the Alphas, 17, has taken to clinging to Jara’s kama in the last few days they’ve spent in hyperspace.

He’s thrown again and again by this other Mand’alor, who threw both money and research opportunities at the Kaminiise to buy out the contract with the Republic, then arranged transport for the decanted clones and safety for the ones still in tubes and gene therapy to cancel out the advanced healing.

Their wherewithal and determination do remind him of his buir and some of the batate in House Mereel.

The ede’dema on their teeth, he’s found, is in the swirling circles of how the Force acts in Concord Dawn’s atmosphere. It’s a little different than what he saw as a child, but their Concord Dawn is not shattered.

Most of the time, Jara works on datapads and in the conference room on the Spearstrike, an impressive star destroyer that Manda’tome leases to their Republic during their war with the current Sith government.

Somewhat surprisingly, Jango finds himself comfortable in their space, to the point that the two of them often end up lying atop each other while Jango arranges the education and housing of the eyayade and Jara plans a war.

There are, apparently, too many fronts for them to fight at the lead of any battle like they’d want.

“When ruyot’alor passed,” they explained when showing Jango and the others the biggest conference room, “I had only led a few campaigns. Still, I was elected of all the students. Still, it means I’ve had fourteen years, not all at war, of very few campaigns. My alor’e are great, though.”

Now, though, they are genuinely enjoying Boba and 17’s company, eyes soft and--.

Jango smiles and Jara startles at it before returning the smile easily.

Then, they perk up and swirl around, nearly toppling 17 over. With a shining grin, they announce, “We’re coming out above Manda’yaim.”

Their Manda’yaim has been one of anxiety and hope for Jango and his people, just from Jara and their people’s confusion when Kal first mentioned the lack of viable land on Manda’yaim in a discussion with one of their Skiratas. None of them had good pictures, so it’s just been stories while the Spearstrike has been in hyperspace.

“Well, let’s see it,” Jango says, sweeping 17 up and sending out a brief comm to Walon and Kal to gather up.

They converge, along with the eyayade on board, to the main deck as the ship gently falls from hyperspace.

On one side, there is the Manda’yaim he knows with its devastated landmasses.

On the other, there is lush green and blue with periodic spears of white and black beskar where Jara’s building projects have cosmopolitanized cities and settlements that might not have even ever existed on his Manda’yaim.

The eyayade are at once enamored with the blues and greens, which take more time for the adults to realize are reality.

Issy Reau starts crying. Mij Gilamar falls back to stare in awe at something he’d only heard of through tales from his riduur’s family. Everyone else falls somewhere in between.

Jango presses his shoulder up against Jara’s.

“Ni ceta at gar entye,” he says, still staring out at the same view that enchants those around him.

Jara, smile gentle once again, simply takes 17 from him and says, “Oya Manda, sosol’alor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes for Web and Loom:
> 
> Manda'tome -- The Mandalorian Empire. Lit. Mandos together.  
> Te Gotabor -- The Builder. Lit. The Engineer.  
> Te Haat'la -- The Steady. Lit. The Truthful / Honest  
> ruyot’ad Te Vercopaca -- Legacy of The Reformer. Lit. The child of the past Mand'alor, The Dreamer.  
> ede'dema -- Teeth sculpture / carving. I'm specifically making this a Concord Dawn artform that's been lost in the canon timeline.  
> Jate’urcir -- Well met / good meeting / good to meet you.  
> Batat'ade -- Concordian Dialect for cousins.  
> Jara -- From Jare, Mando'a Kamikaze, and Jareor, recklessly risking your life. I'm attaching this to Hod Ha'ran, the trickster, as a death-bringer aspect.  
> Eyayade -- Clones. Lit. echo-children.  
> ruyot'alor -- the former Mand'alor. Lit. Past leader.  
> Ni ceta at gar entye -- I kneel for your debt.  
> Keldab -- Fortress.  
> Baatikara -- Star's Worry.  
> Buir'shonar -- Mother-Sea. The only sea on Mandalore.  
> Aliit -- Clan.  
> Maan'ad -- First child. First claimed child, in this case, as it refers to Boba.  
> Aliit'yamike -- Clan rooms.  
> Tate -- Concordian for siblings.  
> Ori'haat -- Promise. Lit. A big truth.  
> shapec’birla -- Concordian. Wood-educated, unwilling to be wrong. I think? I’m working back from my own language building and since it’s Concordian it’s a little difficult...  
> Quick note: I don't usually translate the things that you see in a lot of fics that use Mando'a (because that's most of what I read AND write tbh, and so there'd be a lot) and you can gather the context in. Like Te Gotabor tells the Kaminoan "Suy cu gar, ner bur'cya" which is obviously a greeting. You don't need the details to get it.


	2. Web and Loom (Part 2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two Mand'alore discover just what the two galaxies are in for now that they've combined. A war with the Sith Empire and a mess of Palaptines are the biggest concerns. 
> 
> Oh. And Te Gotabor has a boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One may be wondering why the Jedi of the mirror galaxy are called the Je'dai still. It's mainly because of the timeline break about the Ruusan Reformation. The reactions to the lead up, the Ruusan Reformation being one of them, were different. The reversal to being Je'dai nomads is how the mirror galaxy changed. They're a separate government with treaties with the big governments that allow them to follow a natural Search in finding new members. There are other differences, of course, but that's what I'll put here. Oh, and they act as a check to the heads of the Sith Empire much of the time.

They land in a spaceport that, to several of Te Haat’la’s party’s surprise, is attached to a seaport.

Te Gotabor and their people carefully but joyfully guide them from one to the other, reaching what their people fondly refer to as either a floating palace or a floating fortress. Considering the other ports it visits have actual large, near-palace like homes for the Mand’alor and Parliament’s use, Te Gotabor would rather refer to it as a fortress. They like the idea of a floating Keldab.

The three masted sailing ship is huge, being a quarter the size of the Spearstrike. It’s building and maintenance serve as a spine to the planet’s artisanal shipwright traditions, often as much advertisement as anything.

Te Gotabor named it “Baatikara.”

The Buir’shonar stretches out almost endlessly before them, the freshwater sea much different from what the children will have seen on Kamino.

Several of their verde take charge of their mirror-galaxy relatives and the others of Te Haat’la’s party of trainers to settle them into rooms while others start to thread the attending eyayade off to other creches. The nearly one hundred Alphas stay huddled around the two Mand’alore, vicious pouts sending Te Gotabor’s friends away to a place they can laugh freely.

Of course, this means it is Te Gotabor’s job. And since their friends have left it to them, they get to choose.

Considering they had already considered Te Haat’la as aliit, in one way or another, and planned to invite he and his maan’ad into their own aliit’yamike, it’s not hard to claim the usual diplomat suites nearby as additional creches for the other eyayade. Especially not with little 17 clinging to their kama hem.

Te Gotabor leads the way ushering the children around and settling them into the rooms with a little help and reassurance from Te Haat’la.

“We’ll be the next set of rooms over,” they promise, uncurling 17’s tiny, delicate fingers from their kama. “Just try to settle in with your tate, thirty minutes, okay?”

“But—” the child starts.

“The doors will be unlocked,” Te Haat’la assures him, crouching down to run a gentle hand through his curls that still flummoxes the child in a way that breaks their heart. “If you aren’t asleep in thirty minutes, or if you wake up, you can come over and get in bed with us. There’s just not enough room for everyone to be in the same room. You just can’t go up on deck, because it’s not safe.”

17 worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Promise?”

“Ori’haat,” Te Haat’la says, then hesitates before leaning a bit to press a kiss to 17’s forehead. In his arms, the toddler squirms, but it starts a chain reaction of the other Alphas shyly working their ways over to get affection from either Mand’alore.

Eventually, they’re all settled down into the two suites and Te Gotabor can lead Te Haat’la to their own suite.

The toddler, Boba, is settled in a nest of blankets while they devest each other of armor.

Once freed, Jara leans against Jango. “This is going to take a lot of work.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, exhausted just from herding the eyayade. “You’re good with them.”

Jara smiles at him, unzipping their flight suit to replace with a soft green tunic, legs mostly free as they settle onto their pallet, unwinding Boba while Jango switches to his own sleep clothes. They note, purposefully distant, that he looks good in blue.

Jango drops heavily onto the soft pallet from over Jara’s body, chuckling slightly at his own dramatic exhaustion. Boba, buir in sight, wriggles out of Jara’s grasp and tumbles straight into his father’s side, delighted when he’s scooped up to lie on top of the man.

Jara distributes the blankets, curling into Jango’s side slightly and watching as Boba falls asleep. They’ll stay up for a bit, just in case any of the eyayade come calling within the first thirty minutes.

When the toddler has drifted off, though, Jango says something that surprises them. His voice is soft, to not wake the child sprawled across his chest. “Would you… Would you raise them, with me?” A pause, as Jara scrambles to put their thoughts in over. “Or, just, raise some of them. Without me. I know…”

“No,” Jara stops him. “No, I’d… I’d like that, to raise them with you. And with some of the others, I think.”

Jango’s smile is grateful and Jara leans over to press their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for offering.”

The moment is interrupted by a creaking door and little feet, a good three minutes after thirty is over from Jara’s mental math. They turn over and accept 17 and two other Alphas into their arms, shushing giggles until they’re drifting off in their arms. They tuck their head against Jango’s shoulder and follow the children into sleep.

“The war with the Sith is probably our biggest issue,” Te Gotabor admits to the collection of Te Haat’la’s people. Not all of them—many of the twenty-five aurettiise have left; some of the Mando’ade are on the fence or just plain antagonistic.

Of those there, many have connections to different pockets of the eyayade, parental feelings they’ve had to hide from themselves until this point. Others are almost hopeful to see this “purer” Mando culture that they were told stories of—either Te Gotabor’s or Te Haat’la’s. Some, even, are shapec’birla.

“Moving a large number of noncombatants from the edge of the Outer Rim into deep Mando space, especially aiming at Manda’yaim, Concord Dawn, and Concordia, is a risk to them. Plus our Kaminoans are working on fixing some of the… _fail safes_ that your Kaminoans added.” They sneer around fail safes. “We could try and negotiate for movement, but the Sith at the head of their empire right now is one of the least empathic of the Sith I’ve seen, including some of those that headed previous wars against us and the Republic. I’m not certain he experiences human emotions and he doesn’t attempt to compensate for that like others have.

“So the only other option in moving them is keeping it secret. Putting smaller numbers of children on fully staffed and armed ships, moving them around ‘Tome slowly and meandering back here. It will be safer, but slower.”

Te Haat’la leans on his elbows across the table. “It gives those soldiers a chance to make connections and apply for adoption, too.”

Te Gotabor hums; they’d spoken of that briefly, of using applications instead of the traditional system because of the conditions the eyayade have gone through and will need to continue to go through, with the treatment for the fail safes. They trust their people, but the applications will set up a system to keep track of the eyayade until everything is either fixed or crutched, to funnel them through medical procedures and treatments.

So far, a virus that will likely make the eyayade ill while the DNA included in the virus adjusts their cells is the best bet, but that will still take multiple rounds to fix different things.

“Still, we need to decide if it’s worth the risk or if we should generally wait until the war at least dies down.”

“Some of the cousins mentioned,” Te Haat’la’s Vau says, “That right now, with the convergence, is the quietest they’ve been in a while.”

“They’re probably trying to figure out how to make this actually work for them.” They blow out a long breath. “Giving them a pointed target…”

“They’ll be distracted if we give them a semi-easy target,” Te Haat’la points out. “Droid piloted ship that could take up a lot of space, spread the children out from it at a very visible point but it just looks like there’s a temporary escort… Once it’s to a ‘safe’ area, they leave.”

Te Haat’la’s Skirata taps his fingers against the table. “Let’s try it. Smaller numbers, a ship that can afford to be lost…”

The group turns to them. They nod. “We’ll try it.”

Jango wakes the next night to Jara hunched over a holopad, 17 draped across their lap like a sentient blanket. He’s blanketed by a few other Alphas.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, picking himself out of the pile of children to settle against them.

“Hm?” Jara glances over, tired just by look. “Oh. The Chancellor met your Chancellor. We’re trying to figure out how to spin this…and if we need to spin this. The Master of the Je’dai Council is starting investigations. But it means that the Sith Empire might actually manage an alliance with your Republic. Which speaks much more to how your Republic is currently structured than how the Sith Empire is structured.” They sigh. “At least your Republic has no real army. I’m more worried about those who will be caught in between.”

“Why do you suspect as such? Did he say something in particular?” Jango asks, squinting at the file projected in front of them.

“You know what the Republic Chancellor of your galaxy looks like?”

“Can you refresh my memory? He’d just been elected when…”

Jara pulls up an image of a pale, elderly human man in Naboo cut Chancellery robes. Then, they pull up another of the same man in Naboo cut robes that are much darker in blacks and reds.

Any thoughts of more sleep tonight flee him. “Oh. Oh no.”

“From the Chancellor and the Je’dai, I’ve only found one other sentient who has a mirror in your galaxy. And he has lived centuries. We will attempt to look more at Naboo as a whole, but it’s hard. It’s part of the Sith Empire and has been for decades. But for this to happen…there must be more.”

Jango attempts to put his thoughts in order. “Tyranus’s contract had mention of the Chancellor signing off on the cloning.”

“Neither Palpatine will be getting them,” Jara promises, venom in their voice.

“No,” Jango agrees, covering their hand with his own. “Not now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manda'tome -- The Mandalorian Empire. Lit. Mandos together.  
> Te Gotabor -- The Builder. Lit. The Engineer.  
> Te Haat'la -- The Steady. Lit. The Truthful / Honest  
> ruyot’ad Te Vercopaca -- Legacy of The Reformer. Lit. The child of the past Mand'alor, The Dreamer.  
> ede'dema -- Teeth sculpture / carving. I'm specifically making this a Concord Dawn artform that's been lost in the canon timeline.  
> Jate’urcir -- Well met / good meeting / good to meet you.  
> Batat'ade -- Concordian Dialect for cousins.  
> Jara -- From Jare, Mando'a Kamikaze, and Jareor, recklessly risking your life. I'm attaching this to Hod Ha'ran, the trickster, as a death-bringer aspect.  
> Eyayade -- Clones. Lit. echo-children.  
> ruyot'alor -- the former Mand'alor. Lit. Past leader.  
> Ni ceta at gar entye -- I kneel for your debt.  
> Keldab -- Fortress.  
> Baatikara -- Star's Worry.  
> Buir'shonar -- Mother-Sea. The only sea on Mandalore.  
> Aliit -- Clan.  
> Maan'ad -- First child. First claimed child, in this case, as it refers to Boba.  
> Aliit'yamike -- Clan rooms.  
> Tate -- Concordian for siblings.  
> Ori'haat -- Promise. Lit. A big truth.  
> shapec’birla -- Concordian. Wood-educated, unwilling to be wrong. I think? I’m working back from my own language building and since it’s Concordian it’s a little difficult...  
> 


	3. Under Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Te Gotabor finds Fa (Alpha-17) up to mischief when he's unable to sleep.

“Fa,” Te Gotabor chides, sweeping the six year old up into their arms where he can’t continue scribbling on one of the passed out Skirata boys’ faces. 

Fa, formerly known as A-17, huffs and hangs limp in their arms, barely clinging to the (washable) marker. “Jar’buir,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t fight as Te Gotabor turns them around and trundles him off back to the deck. 

Outside, the air is full of fine salt spray that glints around under the pale starlight.

Te Gotabor and Te Haat’la and the other adults have taken to letting the children sleep wherever they curl up inside, instead taking advantage of the mild weather to sleep on the deck. Any of the children who want to sleep out with them have to stay close and sleep tucked between at least two of them. The eldest of the children, after all, are seven, and most of them are under six. Out on the deck of a kind of ship they only knew of from history modules before the other galaxy came, it’s too dangerous for them to go anywhere without an adult’s notice. 

Fa wiggles until Te Gotabor lets them back down then picks his way around the ba’vodue, briefly pausing to tuck the marker into Walon’ba’s hand, to curl up next to Te Haat’la in an empty space that is clearly Te Gotabor’s. The Mand’alor in question follows him languidly, flopping to the ground and pulling him onto their chest to tuck his head under his chin.

“Can’t sleep?” Te Haat’la murmurs, rolling over while still cradling three-year-old Boba to his chest and ignoring the toddler’s squirming. 

Fa hums, reaching a hand out to pat Boba’s shoulder, making the toddler calm and fall back to sleep. 

Te Haat’la smiles briefly, reaches his hand up to squeeze Fa’s hand, then shifts closer a bit and goes back onto his side so he can press his forehead to Te Gotabor’s shoulder, making the other laugh quietly. 

“Sleep,” Te Gotabor finally says, cuddling Fa closer.

Fa tucks his face into their neck and obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, I just really like three years after TPM when I'm doing timeline stuff.


	4. Names Like Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names are important to Mandalorians. 
> 
> So, of course, this leads to childhood/baby names being needed for the clones. Which leads to Jango's insecurities creeping near the surface.

“Baby names,” Jara says, slung over their Concord Dawn advisor, Ceraran Vale, pointing at Jango and Cort.

“Hit your breaking point on diplomacy?” Jango counters, Cort grunting and burying his face in Jango’s shoulder.

Ceraran cackles. “Oh, definitely.”

“Hush,” Jara groans. “It’s way too late in the cycle for diplomacy. So, baby names.”

The Alphas have taken the advantage of Cort and Ceraran being over to conglomerate, along with Cort’s little squad and Boba, and passed out in a frankly uncomfortable looking pile, just because of how high it is.

Jango sighs and pushes Cort’s face away.

Cort gives him a look of eternal patience, which is hypocritical at best. “You’re scared you’ll die,” he points out, tugging Jango closer. “But there’s four of us to take out to leave the scar.”

“Naming Boba was hard enough,” Jango admits. “It’s almost a curse in my family.”

Jara’s smile is soft. “Then we break it. So, baby names.”

“I vote yes,” Cort says, leaning over to give Ceraran a fist bump.

“Yes,” Ceraran adds.

They both look expectantly at Jango.

He huffs. “Yes.”

Jara smiles, Cort drags him in close again, and Ceraran sprawls back like all has been made right with the world.

Jango lets himself relax into the camaraderie.

“Baby names?” Kal asks, confused.

“Baby names are traditionally given to born Mandalorians, who keep them until they’re about fifteen. Two years after they earn their armor,” Ceraran explains. She’s taken it upon herself to join Jango in talking to the other trainers who will be adopting eyayade. At this point, they’ve all officially agreed that Jango, at least, is going to be a co-parent, which is exactly what she thinks is right.

He knows, she told him.

“I didn’t know that,” Kal admits.

“You were adopted from outside,” one of the other galaxy’s Skiratas points out. The entire clan have easily and delightedly taken Kal and the Nulls into their fold. “It’s traditional to keep adopted children’s names the same, to keep their connection with their birth cultures.”

“But the echoes don’t sync up with that,” Jango explains. “Because they were, technically, born Mandalorian. We’ve already started naming the Alphas.”

A-02, with big eyes, had loudly claimed the name Arla. Jango nearly broke down at that.

A-17 decided on Fa, which had made Jara misty-eyed.

“We’ve been compiling a list of the usual baby names and letting them pick, since they’re older than the usual,” Ceraran adds. “Ski’ika, you have a list your family usually uses?”

“Yeah, I’ll dig it out.” The other Skirata ruffles Kal’s hair, to the older man’s consternation. “It’ll be fun. Bonding!”

Kal looks terrified—Jango’s going to laugh his ass off.

“So did you have a baby name?” Kal asks over dinner with Jango and Walon.

“Jango is my childhood name,” he explains, awkward. “If you have no family members left to award your adult name, you keep your childhood name.”

That makes the two adopted Mandalorians pause.

“Oh,” Walon finally says, a little choked. “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceraran -- Mountain Guard, from Cerar and Aran.  
> Fa -- Concordian, short form of Farja from Standard Mando'a Parjai, or Victory.
> 
> Hi so I love Spar's chosen name and all but baby names I'm trying to standardize as short and diminutives and like. In Mando'a (Standard or Concordian (or others uwu)). And I want him/them to have a bigger part in some of the shorts so. Time to stab Jango in the heart :D
> 
> I mean. Like this entire drabble *isn't* stabbing Jango in the heart.


	5. in the darkened surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atin Vizsla (mirror galaxy) is really pissed off at Pre Vizsla (canon galaxy) because of the darksaber. She complains.
> 
> Jango just wants to get through breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atin is black, FYI, because I really, really don't like the Kalevalan aspects that probably go with the Vizslas and also once I read an awesome Mandalorian fic where Paz Vizsla was black. So.

“Hello Atin,” Jango says, starting the ever-constant morning ritual of pouring juice for the children. “Why are you here, Atin.”

“Sup, ‘Alor,” Atin says, the dark skinned young adult throwing herself into one of the bar stools. “Please, tell me. How the kark did you ever put up with my mirrors?”

Jango pauses in his pouring, mutely handing off a few cups to Arla’ka to start passing out, and puzzles at Jara’s Vizsla. “They tried to kill me, at one point sold me into slavery, and altogether have always been shebs’aaray. Why, what did they do?”

Atin stares, aghast, at him. “They did _what_?”

“No, we aren’t talking about it,” he says, gesturing with the jug of juice before starting to pour again. “What did they do?”

“They’re claiming that having Tarre’baba’s lightsaber is the sign that they’re supposed to be Mand’alor,” she says, clearing bamboozled by the idea. “It means whoever has it is the head of the family, not the karking ‘Tome, even the ‘Yaim. Like. What the kark?”

Jango stares at her for a long moment, pausing only to pass more filled cups to Fa and Peti to take away. “I’d wondered why Jara didn’t have it until you were first introduced as the aliit’alor. So, I’d say, good propaganda. Or maybe for a while some of them after our Te Karbakar saw it passed to Mand’alore, but then they started seeing it covetously. Or maybe it was only Tor who started that. I don’t remember the clan name of the ‘Alor before my buir.”

Atin hums and takes up another jug of juice to pour cups. “The aliit’alor now, Pre, he was so surprised I was not Mand’alor. He says that, because I have it, I am Mand’alor. If it hadn’t been a holo conversation, I would have smacked him. Likely with it.”

Jango hums, nods. “That aliit is nearly extinct, despite their best efforts. Even before Tor raised war…”

“They want importance when they’re blinking out.” Atin sighs. “They are weak.”

“It’s the only reason buir did not name them dar’manda when Tor initially refused to recognize the election results.” Jango pauses to swap out his empty jug for another, passing off more cups. “He felt bad for them.”

“And you?”

Jango laughs. “I am tired, Ati’ka. I have been tired since Tor murdered my buir with no honor. And with his death, Pre has technically not done anything that is properly dar’manda.”

“Not that you know of.”

“Not that I know of,” he allows.

Jara swans into the kitchen to start the food. “Oh, Atin, why are you here?”

“Sosol’aliit,” the young woman reiterates, drooping. “Was talking to Te Haat’la about them.”

Jara nods, taking that easily even though Jango knows they will be asking questions later. It’s early; they have energy for breakfast and that’s about it. “Will you stay for breakfast?” Because that is Jara, and Jango loves that about them. Even if he’d rather Atin got out of their yaimike this early.

"Elek, 'Alor." Ah yes, the young woman is as Force sensitive as a beskar nail. Jango resigns himself to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes:
> 
> Shebs'aaray -- Pain In The Ass, to my best approximation. 
> 
> Te Karbakar, which is the title I'm using for Tarre Vizsla, refers to them being Force sensitive, yes, (it's a requirement for proper, traditional Mand'alore in like everything I write) but also to their connections to cultures outside of Mando cultures. AKA the Jedi and the Republic. I just didn't want to call them Mand'alor Te Jetii, okay.
> 
> Dar'Manda is basically being tossed out and rejected by the culture AND the afterlife situation of the culture. 
> 
> Sosol, in this and previous installments, refers to the "equal" nature of the mirror galaxies. So as a prefix, it means "equal Mand'alor" or "equal clan".


	6. the third level of prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jara's teacher comes to help when the kids get sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Arla" is briefly mentioned here -- that is this AU's version of the clone Spar.
> 
> EDIT: changed a few things for clarity, basically just why the kids are sick.

Jara wrinkles their nose and stares at the ceiling of the room they’re all in.

Jango follows the sense despite Arla having fallen asleep on his chest. “Who is that?” he asks softly, eyes narrowed. Whoever it is, they’re powerful. It doesn’t read as a Je’dai, with their carefully curated chaos, or Jango’s Jedi, who keep themselves behind shields too thick to read. It reads more like Jara, a honeycomb of beskar that warps in the Force’s forge fire.

“Bajir,” Jara finally sighs. They bounce Boba slightly, the toddler fussing as he takes in the misery of the illness sweeping through all of the modified children, the one that will make the necessary changes to their DNA to slow their aging. “My teacher. Of course he’s here. He loves children.”

That doesn’t answer the question Jango hadn’t asked yet—the clones and the rest of the group off Kamino have been here for months.

Jara, as if he said it, looks wryly at him. “He’s good with sickness. He’ll help.”

Jango is surprised, though, to find that Bajir is a small, wizened species that is all too familiar.

“Bajir Yoda,” Jara says, dooming Jango, “This is my sosol’alor. Jango, this is Bajir Yoda, one of the few people in both galaxies from what we can tell, simply thanks to his age.”

“Time is interesting,” Bajir says simply, Basic accented heavily with a drawl that speaks of Mando’a spoken far away and long ago. “I am here to help.”

Fa startles awake, then, crying from the pain of the illness.

“You need it,” Bajir adds. Jango can’t disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahaha
> 
> Yes I'll be writing more stuff with Bajir Yoda, possibly interacting with canon Yoda, but this is what I managed today. 
> 
> Language Notes real quick:  
> Bajir is my best approximation for teacher.  
> Sosol'alor is basically "equal Mand'alor" only shorthand.


	7. Strange Stars in the Sky, Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It follows well enough that Jango’s first experience with the Je’dai is political._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you were subscribed already and just got notice of this chapter, the previous chapter has had some changes.

It follows well enough that Jango’s first experience with the Je’dai is political.

Jara settles against him, comm in hand, frowning.

In the holo, a Nautolan in only passingly familiar robes stands.

“Really, Te Gotabar,” the Nautolan sighs, “This kind of thing needs our full weight backing it. The Chancellor and I could really use your help, here.”

Jango peeks over, apparently into the holorecorder’s viewframe because the Nautolan reacts to him.

“Ah, this is your counterpart?” he asks.

Jango tilts his head. “Mand’alor Te Haat’la.”

The Nautolan, honest to Ka’ra, beams. “I am Master Alda Vot of the Je’dai central council.” The phrasing admittedly peaks Jango’s curiosity. He’ll pick Jara’s brain later. “My thanks in how you’ve settled Jara.”

Jara shrieks in sibling-like fury. “Alda!”

Alda laughs. “They are the youngest of the leaders of our galaxy, so we’ve always been quite concerned about their lifestyle. Somewhere between partying and swashbuckling, I believe the previous Sith Emperor called it.”

“Praeter was a good man for a Sith,” Jara sighs. “Too bad he bit it.”

Alda snorts and nods to Jango. “He was poisoned by his successor, who is our current problem. But. Mand’alor Te Haat’la, the Je’dai and those of our galaxy’s Republic both would graciously accept your help in getting Jara to meet with the Chancellor of your galaxy’s Republic. It’s our best chance to throw him off guard.”

“Does that mean we’d have to go to Coruscant?” Jango asks, more to Jara than Alda.

They hum in angry affirmation. “I don’t want to leave the children so far away.”

Alda nods. “I understand. I would hardly want to leave my Padawan if she was too young to travel such distance. But this is for them, in the end.” He’s pleading, but Jango can understand that. Palpatine is their biggest threat right now.

“The Kamin'ade have almost finished developing the first batch of the virus,” he offers. “Once the Alphas have gotten through their illness, we can consider it. Mm?”

Jara grumbles but nods.

Again, Alda beams at him. “That, I suppose, is all I can ask for. Thank you.”

The call ends, after a brief back and forth of goodbyes.

“Did a jetii just thank me?” Jango asks Jara distantly.

They laugh, the vibrations against his ribs tickling. “The Je’dai are not the jetiise you have known.”

“That,” he decides, “Is rather obvious. Central council?”

“They’re a bit like my war council, but more for general affairs. Many Je’dai feel called to areas of disaster or great distress, to help. Without the Senate holding sway over them, it admittedly is more disorganized than your jetiise. So the central council smooths over the politics, plans anything more specific, and is the main face of the nomads at large. They mainly meet through holoconference.”

“Huh,” Jango grunts. “Still sticking their noses into everything? Those that have them, anyways.”

“Oh, like we don’t,” Jara teases, though they’re gentle as they take his hand. “They hope for change, for justice to take hold in the galaxy. Most of them actually go to places looking for lost knowledge and then end up embroiled, actually.”

Jango stares at them. “So they just have wayii’kara.”

“Exactly!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kamin'ade instead of Kaminiise partially because the canon Kaminoans are terrible, especially compared to Te Gotabar's Kaminoans. 
> 
> Praetor as the previous Sith Emperor compared to Palpatine. Basically, in Te Gotabar's universe, the moderate Sith of the Sith Empire were never killed and stayed in power. Some of them very much are like the Sith of old and that we know, but some of them were just chill. Or, as chill as still problematic people can be. Praetor was Affably Evil and everyone (even the people who hated him) thought so. So yeah _for a Sith_.
> 
> Wayii'kara -- from Wayii "a general exclaimation of surprise, good or bad" and Ka'ra "stars" in this case meaning luck. Basically, really weird luck.


	8. My Love In Mirror Vibrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving surprise gifts is very hard when you have children. Especially as many children as they tend to have.

When Jango walks into the room, he’s met with the sight of Cort holding Kara by the ankle in one hand, Arla around the waist with the other, and Kando slung over his shoulder. Kara, the youngest of the little collection, is delighted and giggling. Arla is pouting, as he tends to do when he’s been thwarted. Kando, uncharacteristically, is asleep. Cort is distractedly looking around.

Cort and Ceraran had been on ad’ike duty while Jara, Jango, and Bajir Yoda had gone to meet with the Je’dai about the very obvious Sith issue. They’d just gotten back, so Jango’s not sure what he expected.

Jango can’t help the curious and confused smile that crosses his face. He crosses his arms, leaning back on one foot while he waits for Cort to notice him.

Arla does first. “Jan’buir!” he calls, reaching out for him and surprising Cort.

“Jan’ka,” Cort says, relief palpable, “Here, hold these.”

Jango bemusedly accepts Arla, who scrambles up his shirt to sit on his shoulders, and Kara, who settles happily on his hip.

“Bubu,” Kara coos, laying their soft cheek against his neck.

“Su cuy, Kar’ta,” Jango greets, using the nickname they’ve started to use for Kara. The little one is rather taciturn, but incredibly sweet. It probably doesn’t help them that, like the other younger eyayade, they’ve started to be raised with Mando’a (Concordian Mando’a specifically, for the ones with their little family) as their primary language. The Alphas and other older eyayade pidgin it with the Basic they were trained with, before, though all of them technically are taught Basic as a secondary language.

Arla squirms on his shoulders. “Jan’buir,” he whines, “Want juice.”

“Oh? And why has Cor’buir not gotten you juice?”

Arla sulks.

“He decided that they would hide, uh—.” Cort pauses, looking like a tooka caught in a chicken coop.

“And Kando is asleep, because?”

“Oh, he was up all night.” Cort lightly jostles the boy still slung on his shoulders who doesn’t even stir. “Just got him to sleep when I came in.”

“Where’s Boba?” Jango asks, raising an eyebrow. If they got Kara involved, Boba had to have been a factor…

Cort muffles a curse and glares at Arla. “Where’s Boba, Arla?”

Arla shrinks. “Runnin’.”

Both adults purse their lips and try to gather patience.

“Running where?” Jango finally asks, thankful his voice is level.

“Ba’vode.”

Cort looks murderous. That doesn’t bode well.

“Uh huh. And what, in particular, is he doing?”

“Hid the thing. Running for cover.”

Jango tries to keep the laughter out of his posture. Cort, at least, relaxes. “And where did you hide the thing?”

Arla perks up at that. “Your room!”

Jango cranes his head around to look at the little boy. “My room?”

Cort coughs and, when Jango turns back to him, his ears are red.

“What is the thing?” Jango asks the room.

“Be’gar mesh’la ki’kal val go-ta-loor,” Kara sounds out.

Jango squints down at the little one, frowning. “My pretty knife he made?”

“’Lek, bu.”

Jango looks back up at Cort, who’s visibly flushing now.

“I was going to give it to you tonight,” Cort says, coming over to them and dropping a kiss to Kara’s forehead. “Then these ones found it.”

Jango laughs. “Well lets go find it before any of the other little ones do. But you’re calling Mij to rescue Boba.”

“Of course, cyare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bubu -- cute form of buir, often said by VERY small children.  
> Kara - this is Bacara! I wanted to give him a better experience with Davin. Kara, of course, means star. The nickname form is, instead of Kar'ika or Kar'ka, Kar'ta (heart) because Concordian Accents


End file.
